


The Giant Rat of Sumatra

by Small_Hobbit



Series: The Ocelot Collection [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Rats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:18:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The simple story as told by two rats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Matilda Briggs

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sherlock Holmes: 60 for 60 comm; in which every week the challenge is to write a 60 word ficlet for one of the ACD stories. The stories here grew from their original 60 word beginnings.
> 
> This story is a collaboration between myself and debriswoman, who does not have an AO3 account, but who deserves the praise.
> 
> The ACD story is The Sussex Vampire

Everything would have been well if the ship had not been becalmed and the first mate hadn’t taken it into his head to check the cargo in the hold.  He took fright when he saw me and by the time he was back on deck he was speaking gibberish.  The crew, convinced there was a devil on board, abandoned ship.

 

However, what had really frightened the first mate was that the rat was wearing sunglasses and lounging in a deck chair. Getting the ship back to shore wasn't going to present too much of a problem to him:

 

Sumatran rat  
In shades and hat  
On striped deck chair  
Without a care.  
The scared first mate  
Just would not wait  
To fully check   
That peaceful deck  
And note the rat  
In shades and hat  
Was not a threat  
Instead,upset,  
He left the deck  
A shattered wreck  
His frightened crew  
Who saw him, knew  
Some monster lay  
To wait for prey.  
And left the craft,  
Both fore and aft.  
A shock for rat  
In shades and hat.  
He kept his cool,  
No rodent fool.  
And checked the map  
(Resourceful chap)  
Though rodents hate  
To navigate  
He knew the score  
And sailed for shore...

 


	2. The Rat in the Tenement at Great Orme Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our London rat goes to visit his cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This begins with the ACD story "The Red Circle"

I moved into this flat because I wished for some peace and quiet and no-one lived here. Dead bodies are okay, they don’t move around and the other Italian didn’t stay. But having people burst into the room, practically fighting to be the first one through the door, and holding long conversations, is too much. I’m going to live elsewhere.

I had received a postcard from my cousin, who had suggested that I come for a visit. He had warned me not to take the _Matilda Briggs_ , since the crew had proved rather unreliable, but if I chose a suitable tea clipper I could join him for a quiet holiday. I took my deckchair, sunglasses and hat and set off.

Startling an unfortunate lady on the Brixton omnibus, on the way to the port...

I had politely raised my hat to the lady, but she merely gave a sigh and collapsed at my feet. The pandemonium that followed was quite extraordinary, as the other passengers hurried to leave the omnibus, bearing the conductor with them. Since the omnibus seemed to be going no further I left the lady and went to find alternate transport.

Using, as always, when in shades and hat, the name, James Phillimore, I stepped into my house on the pretext that I had forgotten my umbrella. A lone rat slipping out the back door would scarce be noticed...a passing cab solved my next problem. The port was within my reach...

My first inclination was to board the _Lone Star_ , a fine looking vessel, which appeared to possess a fair turn of speed. But upon approaching the gang plank my rat instincts warned me of future disaster and I turned round. I could afford to wait a few days to find a ship that would successfully carry me to my destination.

Similarly, my whiskers twitched as I passed the "Alicia", the "Sophy Anderson" and a rather fine Dutch steamship. I would possess myself in patience...

Finally, I found a vessel that I deemed suitable. I waited for nightfall and then went on board, confident that no-one would notice me. I hurried below deck and found a suitable cabin. It had not been cleaned and I was satisfied that they were not expecting an occupant on this journey. I unpacked my small valise and settled in.

Knitting is a surprisingly soothing way of passing the time on a long voyage...

Knowing that the voyage would take some weeks and that there would not be much entertainment available for most of it, I had ensured that I had packed wool and knitting needles. Having completed a hat for myself for when the nights were cold I spent many pleasurable hours knitting socks for my cousin and devising a suitably intricate pattern.

When paws became stiff, and wool became tangled, I set down my knitting, relaxed on my newly finished fair isle patterned pillow, closed my eyes, and composed light operatic scenes in my head. I blessed my mother for exposing me to the thrills of live musical performances from a young age.

I was especially proud of the new operetta that I created by bringing together Gilbert and Sullivan’s _Mikado_ and _The Pirates of Penzance_ , rewriting the arias to enhance the new setting. I felt that the additional introduction of the ghosts from _Ruddigore_ gave the final touches to what would have been a sell-out production, should it ever have been performed.

The days passed in a pleasant whirl of knitting wool and revised comic choruses. The evenings were spent in a diligent search for sustenance. A swiftly knitted cook's hat and jacket proved to be invaluable in my quest. I found that taking the place of the sous chef, whenever he was away from the galley on some errand, brought me many a tasty morsel and occasionally, compliments from the Captain's Table.

It also meant that I was able to overhear some useful gossip. It appeared that one of the passengers who had come on board at our last port was a name I recalled hearing from the London newspaper vendors, a man whose wife had died in suspicious circumstances and who had disappeared very shortly after the discovery of her body.

Using a code I had designed to look remarkably similar to the knitting instructions for a particularly challenging pair of socks, I recorded the relevant details and descriptions, omitting nothing of importance. A discarded whisky bottle provided the perfect vessel for conveying my suspicions. I launched it on a particularly glorious cloudless evening, perched on my porthole, marron glace, in hand, wishing it "bon voyage".

I was extremely satisfied at our port of call a week later when some Indian policemen came on board and arrested the man. My information had been telegraphed to Mr Holmes who had correctly deciphered the code and had sent urgent instructions back. I heard later that Mrs Hudson had also knitted an impressive pair of socks for Doctor Watson.

All good things come to an end, alas. Even the most rewarding and pleasant of voyages reaches a final destination. Restoring my now pristine cabin to its former unattended state occupied me for an absorbing afternoon. I wiped chalked stage directions and librettos off the walls, rolled up my new rug ( the shortest thread of wool was not wasted) emptied my pantry, folded my deckchair, and packed my valise. A thin layer of dust and 5 minutes of exuberant dancing over the furniture completed the effect.

Thus it was that I finally reached my destination and was able to trot down the gangplank to be greeted by my cousin. We celebrated our reunion by dancing a tango on the dockside. Our enthusiasm may have startled a few bystanders but we would permit nothing to dampen our joy at seeing each other. We had much to relate.


End file.
